


watch me stand in line

by jenhyung



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Bickering, Drama, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Inspired by Irregular Office (NCT Teaser), M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:35:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23669266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenhyung/pseuds/jenhyung
Summary: “What?” Doyoung says again. He frowns, “What do you mean they’re moving you? To another building? Another country?”
Relationships: Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Lee Taeyong
Comments: 30
Kudos: 359





	watch me stand in line

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for requesting [@dyestoday](https://twitter.com/dyestoday)! i hope you like it ;-;

“They’re moving me.”

Doyoung pauses, a spoonful of _bibimbap_ hanging in the air. He stares at Taeyong as if the older boy’s grown an extra head, brows furrowing together slowly, “What?”

“Junmyeon hyung had me hang back after our meeting to talk about it,” Taeyong hums. He pushes his food around the stone bowl, “Says it’s for communication’s sake now that I’m working with the new team.”

“What?” Doyoung says again. He frowns, “What do you mean they’re _moving_ you? To another building? Another country?”

“In the _office_ , obviously,” Taeyong clicks his tongue. He picks out the beansprout from his bowl to flick it into Doyoung’s, despite knowing that the younger boy didn’t like them all too much either, “You’re not going to get rid of me that easily.”

Doyoung’s shoulders drop, “I wasn’t thinking that.”

“Then stop looking so relieved,” Taeyong snorts. Doyoung glares at him in protest but Taeyong ignores it, “I meant they’re relocating me. To sit with the _Chamisul_ team, y’know, since we’re taking on that big portfolio together.”

“They’re–relocating you?”

“Well, it isn’t just me.” Taeyong reaches over for the squeeze bottle of _gochujang_ sauce, lining the sides of the bowl with just the right amount, “They’re moving Kim Wonpil down from the forty-second floor, and Oh Sehun up from marketing.”

“Sounds like a big move.”

Taeyong purses his lips at Doyoung’s indifference. He slides the _gochujang_ back into its holder smoothly and picks up his chopsticks, mixing it well, “Junmyeon hyung seems to think we’d work better if we’re all seated together.”

Doyoung chews through shreds of fried egg, “Will it?”

Taeyong shrugs. He doesn’t really mind moving desks, not when it’s for the benefit of the team. It’s going to be a hassle to have to take down all of the little trinkets decorating his current desk, but if they really want him moving cubicles then there really isn’t anything he could do about it.

Doyoung nods when he says this. He looks back at his bowl to mutter, “Right.”

Taeyong understands the stiffness then. It’s not for nothing, having been best friends with Doyoung the moment the younger boy stepped foot into the company, bright and so very willing to learn. Doyoung had been assigned the empty cubicle across Taeyong’s, the fateful decision that had brought them together. Taeyong remembers Doyoung’s initial hesitancy around him, constantly nervous and quiet, timid around Taeyong even when Taeyong tried his best to make Doyoung feel welcomed as a new junior editor on their floor.

Long gone were those days of peace. Taeyong can’t pay anyone in the world enough money to get Doyoung to shut up these days.

(Not that he particularly wanted to anyway.)

It wasn’t long after Doyoung’s first week at the office did his façade drop completely, revealing his true self that really is Kim Doyoung. He was always babbling on about some new show he discovered or explaining to anyone who would listen about some unknown fact he learnt over the weekend; always annoying Taeyong from across the low divider between them, tossing over origami bunnies or just crumpled up pieces of paper with scribbles on them; always humming along to some new song he’d heard on the radio or nagging at Taeyong whenever he saw Taeyong get up to dig through the office pantry for a snack.

It’s been a year since then and Taeyong can’t remember how life used to be without Doyoung around him.

_Ah._

Taeyong leans back in his seat now, the chair creaking softly under his weight. He folds his arms across his chest and waits, staring straight at Doyoung’s crown as if he could burn holes through it.

When Doyoung doesn’t look up, Taeyong stretches his legs out under the tiny table they’re both squished on either sides of, tapping his foot twice against Doyoung’s ankle.

It’d always been their little thing, this wordless exchange. Taeyong doesn’t quite remember when it’d first began but Doyoung had once tapped his foot twice against Taeyong’s ankle to warn him of their regional manager coming up from the hallway behind them. Taeyong had been clicking through cat adoption sites and gushing about them; he’d probably be locked in a meeting room if it weren’t for Doyoung, on the receiving end of Junmyeon’s hour-long lectures.

And it’d just picked up from there–two taps to the foot meant _look up_.

Doyoung glances at him through his lashes, “What?”

Taeyong falters momentarily at the sudden appreciation he has for Doyoung’s eyes. It’s not something new to him, no, Taeyong’s very much well-aware of how they make his heart stutter–the perfect curve to his bright eyes that made Taeyong feel like he could stare straight into Doyoung’s very core, the way it encompassed both the sharpness Doyoung commanded in meetings and the softness only Taeyong’s privy to, the way they’re teeming such emotion that Taeyong often finds himself at a loss of how to unscramble it.

In retrospect, Taeyong isn’t sure if it’s any normal for a coworker to have his heart breaking speed limits, but he doesn’t think Doyoung to just be his coworker–no, they’re more than that.

Even outside of work, Taeyong’s life has been undeniably upended by Kim Doyoung. There were no Saturdays spent cleaning or Sundays spent in front of the television, not if Doyoung could have a say in it–and Taeyong doesn’t know when he did start to play some pivotal role in what _they_ do together, much less when exactly did his weekends involve Doyoung.

Short trips to Daegu for _kalguksu_ or Gwangju for _yukjeon_ , these drives to Seoul’s neighboring states became their weekend plans. They’d take turns picking a city before climbing into Doyoung’s secondhand Hyundai, setting off without so much of an actual plan or goal. More often than not, Doyoung would offer to drive and Taeyong was more than fine with that, happy to save his attention to whatever Doyoung wanted to talk about and to the music playing softly on the radio. It’s so incredibly easy for Taeyong to just pick up his phone and wallet and leave with Doyoung; it’s probably the sheer lack of effort and the lush comfort he feels that has them taking these trips again and again.

They’re friends, the best of friends (even if Doyoung is vehemently refusing to accept the title), and Taeyong is fine with that.

More than fine.

“You’re sulking,” Taeyong points out.

Doyoung sulks, “I’m not.”

Taeyong rolls his eyes, “C’mon, don’t be upset.”

That makes Doyoung’s head snap up, “I’m not upset.”

“Please!” Taeyong scoffs, picking his chopsticks back up now that they’ve somewhat regained their ability to converse, “Spare me the lies.”

“I’m not lying.” Doyoung raises a brow, casting nonchalance as if he were hoping Taeyong would take the bait.

There’s _gochujang_ on the corner of his lip; Taeyong almost reaches over to wipe it away, but Doyoung licks his lips like he can hear Taeyong think.

Doyoung sniffs, “Why would I even be upset?”

Taeyong stops, withering inwardly under Doyoung’s razor-edged stare. Doyoung doesn’t move, and neither does he. Under the table, Taeyong tucks his legs under his seat and hooks his ankles together. He picks up a beansprout he’d missed earlier, flicks it into Doyoung’s bowl, and says nothing more on the matter.

–

The _Chamisul_ project is a huge project. Taeyong finds himself running off on client meetings every day, speeding through lunch at his desk before his rushing off to meet another potential celebrity for their campaign. It’s brushing up on reports with Wonpil and fixing mock-ups with Sehun, leaving no time for Taeyong to even consider thinking about anything else but work.

It’s Friday evening now and he’s absolutely spent after all the scurrying around he’s done today, from the celebrity’s agency to the designers over in Hongdae–it’s been hours since Taeyong’s been off his feet.

He sighs loudly, the office empty enough after eight in the evening, sans a couple of editors still tapping away at last-minute revisions. It’s a long night he’s got ahead of him, despite the weekend literally around the corner, and Taeyong has already conceded to staying late in the office once more.

He’s about to close his eyes for a twenty-minute power nap when something cool is pressed against his neck, little beads of condensation rolling smoothly into his shirt. Taeyong yelps–a sort choked, donkey-like noise–and jumps right out of his seat, whirling around with his hands clutched to his neck.

“I would apologize for scaring you but I’m actually not all that sorry.”

“Ah, hyung,” Taeyong whines, deflating immediately.

Byun Baekhyun, team leader to the _Chamisul_ project and Taeyong’s current direct supervisors, stands before him, an award-winning grin on his face. He holds the can of cola out to Taeyong, “I know you need your sugar.”

Taeyong pouts, but takes the drink gratefully anyway. Baekhyun has been the best leader Taeyong’s been under, and he doesn’t even care if it’s only been a week, he’d rather work with Baekhyun and his charming personality for the next thousand projects at this company.

“Thanks, hyung.” Taeyong opens the can and takes a long sip, the sugary sweetness fizzing to his cheeks, a new wave of energy crashing against his every nerve, “What should we start with tonight?”

“ _I’m_ going to look over the designs we have up so far,” Baekhyun sighs, leaning against the edge of Taeyong’s desk, “you, on the other hand, are going home.”

“What? No, hyung, I can stay with you–”

“I’m saying you don’t have to, Taeyong.” Baekhyun smiles at him, dimples in his cheeks, “I’ve seen you work overtime the entire week, alright, you’ve earned at least tonight to go home early.”

“But hyung–”

“That’s an order,” Baekhyun says with finality, waving dismissively at Taeyong’s attempts to conjure a reason to stay, “You’d better go before I change my mind and have you come back tomorrow.”

Taeyong relents, knowing better than to fight a senior on things like these. He feels the bubble of excitement anyway at the thought of his bed, and he can’t help himself when he shuffles over to stand between Baekhyun’s legs and throw his arms around Baekhyun’s shoulders, hugging the older boy tight.

Baekhyun simply laughs at his blatant show of gratefulness, and Taeyong grins, always one to love affection. Baekhyun hugs him back gently, patting him on the small of his back, “Off you go, off you go now.”

Taeyong pulls away, ecstatic now that he finally has some time to stop thinking. He’s about to thank Baekhyun again when he notices Doyoung standing not far from where they are, a grimace on his face. His eyes flicker from Taeyong to the back of Baekhyun’s head, then to Taeyong again.

Taeyong doesn’t understand the daggers Doyoung’s glaring at him with–he hasn’t seen Doyoung all week, not after moving desks. He’d been so busy with lunches and meetings and overtime that he hadn’t the chance to sought Doyoung out, and he hadn’t the time to think about it–but he really _misses_ Doyoung.

“Hey–”

Something snaps the moment Taeyong attempts to make contact, and Doyoung is moving, stalking out of the office’s main area and heading straight for the elevators. Taeyong exhales sharply, like he’s pulled forward by some invisible force tying him to his best friend.

Call it a best friend’s intuition or whatever, but Taeyong knows something is wrong.

“Hey, you okay?”

“Uh, yeah.” Taeyong fumbles to scoop his bag off the floor, a sudden urgency gripping him by the ankles, forcing him forward, “Sorry, hyung, I have to go–I’ll see you Monday?”

He barely hears Baekhyun’s _Yeah, of course_ because he’s scurrying out of the office after Doyoung, fueled by confusion and a certain prick in his heart. Taeyong drops the can into one of the trash bins he passes on the way out, and it makes a loud _fwoomp!_ that has Doyoung turning to look over his shoulder where he’s at the end of the hall.

Taeyong frowns, “Hey, what are you–”

Doyoung doesn’t waste a second, hurrying off once more. Taeyong feels a slight flare of frustration in his chest as he rushes to catch up, thoughts flying through his head, _He’s avoiding me? I haven’t seen him all week and he’s avoiding me?_

It’s not too hard to catch Doyoung at the end of the hall, Taeyong finds, because there Doyoung stands in the middle of the lobby, jamming the button for the elevator furiously, obviously begging for it to come quick. He stops when Taeyong steps into view, reluctantly conceding to the fact that there’s no chance of escaping Taeyong.

Which poses the question,

“What _are_ you doing?”

“What does it look like?” Doyoung hitches his bag higher up a shoulder, eyeing the numbers above the elevators, willing them to hurry, “I’m going home.”

Taeyong flinches at the hostility, “What’s–going on with you, Doyoung?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Taeyong closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He hated talking to Doyoung like this, hated trying to make Doyoung _want_ to talk to him; it isn’t often Doyoung has such high walls up around Taeyong, there was never a reason for Doyoung to want to run away.

“Did I–do something to piss you off or something?” Taeyong asks, a little gentler now. He fiddles with the strap of his backpack, not knowing a clue of what’s going on, “I haven’t seen you all week and now you’re running away from me and–”

“Oh.” Doyoung scoffs, “So, you’ve realized, haven’t you?”

Taeyong is rightfully lost, “Realized what? What are you–”

“It’s nothing,” Doyoung says, tone clipped. One of the elevators arrive on their floor then with a soft chime, and Doyoung is already walking away, “Have a good–”

Taeyong grabs a hold of Doyoung’s sleeve without thinking, holding Doyoung back from leaving. The surprised look on Doyoung’s face vanishes when he tries to pull himself free, to no avail as Taeyong tugs harder on his sleeve.

“What are you–”

“Just tell me what’s going on, Doyoung,” Taeyong sighs, composure ebbing away. He holds tight until the elevator doors slide shut, letting Doyoung go when the chance to escape is long gone, “Are you angry at me or something?”

“No,” Doyoung jabs the elevator button with force that can only be a result of anger, “I’m not angry at you.”

“Look, I get that there’s been some changes and you don’t like it, but–”

“What are you talking about–I said I’m fine, hyung.”

Taeyong hates this side of Doyoung, “If you’re _fine_ then why are you so hellbent on running away from me?”

“Running away?” Doyoung folds his arms across his chest, guarding himself from Taeyong, “You’re the one that’s been ignoring me all week!”

“Ignoring–” Taeyong can’t even begin to comprehend Doyoung’s accusation, “I’ve been busy with work, Doyoung–I don’t know if you’ve noticed but the _Chamisul_ team has been working so hard together to make sure we get to meet–”

“Yes, yes, _yes_ , I _know_ ,” Doyoung very nearly snaps, the fire in his eyes a match to the heat on Taeyong’s cheeks, “You’re busy with Wonpil hyung, and Sehun hyung, and Baekhyun _hyung,_ I get it, okay?”

Taeyong, on the other hand, doesn’t get it. “What the hell has gotten into you? Are you–are you _drunk_ or something?”

Doyoung rolls his eyes, scoffing derisively.

“What in the world has got you thinking that I’m ignoring you, Kim Doyoung, are you actually out of your mind?” Taeyong hears the tremble in his voice; he digs his nails into his palms to keep the pressure off the back of his eyes, “I’ve been so busy with work, I just–I just wanted to–”

 _I just wanted to see you_. _I just wanted to talk to you, I just wanted to sit in your shitty car and listen to that stupid song you’re always humming, I just wanted to have dinner with you, I just wanted you to roll your eyes at one of my bad jokes, I just wanted to be with you, and I just wanted you to want it too._

Taeyong’s heart slams into his chest, against his sternum, and it’s almost painful.

“Right,” Doyoung laughs, wicked and evil and everything nasty from a children’s fairytale. “Busy enough to stand around with Byun Baekhyun–I get it.”

“You’re _so–_ ” Taeyong groans in exasperation and it echoes off the marbled walls, “ _Why_ are you so angry with me and why didn’t you just come up and talk to me if you’re so mad about–”

“I’ve said a hundred times that I’m not angry–”

“Don’t lie to me, Doyoung, I swear I’ll–”

“I am _not_ angry, you’re being–”

“You know what? Forget it.” Taeyong shakes his head, moving to grip the straps of his backpack to ground himself from running right back into the office to find a quiet corner and let his frustration roll down his cheeks, “I’m not talking to you if you keep _lying_ to me!”

Doyoung’s face twists, “Lying? I’m not–”

“Then explain why you’re being so–”

“You’re accusing me of being angry when I’m–”

“When you’re what? Being completely irrational? Yeah, I _know_ –”

“Will you just listen–I’m not–”

“No! I’m _not_ going to listen, and I’m not going to until you–”

“I’m _jealous_!”

Doyoung very well yells over Taeyong’s incessant rumbling, over the nerves pulled tight between them, over the silence in the lobby. Taeyong’s jaw goes slack, hearing Doyoung’s words reverberate over and over. His heart slows as his mind registers the last two seconds again and again, a warmth flooding Taeyong’s chest.

Doyoung’s hands are curled into fists, and his voice is uneven, “I’m not lying, I’m not angry, I’m jealous, okay? I’m jealous that you’ve spent the whole week running off with all your other _hyungs_ that you’ve–you’ve completely forgotten about me and you don’t even understand what it–”

“I–I didn’t forget about you, Doyoung,” Taeyong tries to say, tries to stop this influx of new knowledge because he is _not_ ready to handle this, but Doyoung barrels on,

“How could I tell you, hyung?”

Doyoung’s eyes are wide, looking as if he really wanted Taeyong to tell him what to do, as if he were really lost on his own. There’s that tenderness Taeyong sees in Doyoung’s eyes, smothered by bitterness that forces its way free.

“How could I just walk up to you and tell you that I was jealous–that I _am_ jealous? What exactly should I have said? That I want you to–to move back to your old desk? That I want you to look at me? That I _miss_ you?”

Taeyong doesn’t dare hope, “What are you–”

“How should I have told you that I missed you, hyung? Should I have told you that it makes me– _envious_ to see you laughing along with Byun Baekhyun? That I feel like I’m just waiting for you to notice me again? Even though I shouldn’t? Even though I shouldn’t be jealous? How should I have told you that I’m only jealous because–”

Doyoung swallows thickly, catching himself. He blinks, as if he’d suddenly returned to his body, as if he’d suddenly realized just what he’d meant to say. He clamps his mouth shut, watching Taeyong now with nothing but fear written all over his face.

A whisper, “Because what, Doyoung?”

Doyoung’s lashes flutter, brain working twice as hard.

“Tell me,” Taeyong murmurs, stepping close to rest his hand gingerly against Doyoung’s chest. He thumbs at the button on Doyoung’s shirt, enamored by the way Doyoung’s eyes drop to his lips, “Please?”

Doyoung inhales sharply, “What?”

“Tell me why you’re jealous.”

Some dark pit in Taeyong’s mind is telling him that he could be understanding Doyoung wrongly, that _no_ , Kim Doyoung isn’t about to tell him just exactly the words he hadn’t known he’d been waiting for. But that’s forgotten when Taeyong braves to slide his hands to Doyoung’s shoulders, and Doyoung’s cheeks turn bright at the touch. They stand near flush to one another, and Taeyong is too close to even think of what could go wrong.

Taeyong sees the lightbulb flicker in Doyoung’s mind.

Doyoung’s words come out strangled, “You know?”

“Know what?”

“That I–” Doyoung croaks, “That I–like you?”

Taeyong feels fireworks shoot off the top of his head, “You like me?”

“What?” Doyoung eyes are almost crossing with how close Taeyong is, “Why are you–”

“I like you too,” Taeyong says quickly, not wanting to waste another ten minutes trying to get Doyoung to listen to him. He bounces on his tiptoes, watching Doyoung’s confusion melt into disbelief, “I like you, Doyoung.”

Doyoung shakes his head, “No, you don’t–”

“I do!” Taeyong furrows his brows, but he can’t stop smiling up at Doyoung, heart going so quick, the sight of Doyoung comprehending the reality of things enough to have Taeyong go a little light-headed, “Of course, I like you, Doyoung–and I’ve–missed you all week too, but I really was–busy.”

Doyoung’s lips form a small _o,_ “I’d thought–I thought you… forgot. About me.”

Taeyong ignores the fact that his heart’s just grown three times at Doyoung’s innocence, the delicate disposition newly revealed to him–he wonders just how many layers of Doyoung he’ll get to know, how many he’ll selfishly keep just to himself.

“I didn’t,” Taeyong says firmly. He grabs Doyoung by the cheeks, like he always does whenever he has to convince Doyoung to go for dessert, “I did _not_ forget you, got it?”

Doyoung nods, mumbling through squished cheeks, “I–got it.”

Taeyong tilts his head and smiles, releasing Doyoung’s cheeks. He leaves his hands there, cupping Doyoung’s face and understanding just how badly he’s wanted to do this. Doyoung’s face turns red under his palms, and Taeyong hums in question.

“When–” Doyoung’s hands hesitate on Taeyong’s waist, “When did you start liking me?”

“I’ve always liked you,” Taeyong shrugs. He breathes deeply, the smell of Doyoung’s cologne mixed with his innate scent all the more intoxicating now that his mind’s making the connections–he’d always thought Doyoung’s car to have some sort of amazing air freshener, “Since a long time ago, I guess. I like spending time with you, I like talking to you, I like thinking about you.”

“You think about me?”

Taeyong licks his lips, “Sometimes.”

“I think about you too,” Doyoung mumbles.

“Really?” Taeyong tips his chin up obviously, wetting his lips again. Doyoung’s gapes, “What do you think about?”

“A lot of things.”

“Name one.”

Doyoung’s fingers press greedily against Taeyong’s waist, “Kissing you.”

Taeyong doesn’t wait. He kisses Doyoung without preamble, tugging Doyoung close gently and sliding their lips together. Doyoung’s lips are cool against his and it’s a kiss perfect to be their first; Doyoung’s hands on Taeyong’s waist tightens as time rolls by, going between kissing Taeyong sweet and taking Taeyong’s lower lip between his own. It’s perfect, and Taeyong could melt under Doyoung, he really could, and he would dream of nothing than to stay here, kissing Kim Doyoung for the rest of his life, and–

“When I said go home, I kind of expected you to leave the building.”

Taeyong breaks the kiss to spin himself around, hands flying to where Doyoung’s hands are on his waist. He backpedals into Doyoung’s chest, eliciting a soft _urgh_ from the younger boy, but Taeyong’s a lot more concerned with the fact that Baekhyun is standing by the entrance to the office’s main area, looking very, _very_ amused.

“Hyung–” Taeyong stammers, not quite in a state to be speaking, not with Doyoung’s pressed against him, warmth nothing like he’s ever felt before, “Hyung, I was just–”

“I know,” Baekhyun says, running a hand through his hair. He bites on his lip, “Actually, the whole office does–as expected if you’re going to have a fight for the rest of us to hear.”

Taeyong nearly throws up, “Oh my god, hyung, I didn’t–”

Doyoung pipes up, “It was my fault, Mr. Byun–I was the one who–”

“It’s fine, Mr. Kim,” Baekhyun laughs, light and airy. He waves at them dismissively, “Now, seriously, get out of here before I really make the both of you come back tomorrow just to keep me company.”

“Yes, hyung,” Taeyong says; Doyoung jams the elevator button roughly.

Baekhyun shoots them both a cheeky grin before making his way back into the office, still laughing as he goes.

When the lobby returns to its silence, Taeyong sags against Doyoung, suddenly exhausted. He lets Doyoung maneuver him to have his cheek against Doyoung’s chest, arms curling instinctively around Doyoung, “Oh my god.”

“‘Oh my god’ is very right.”

Doyoung kisses Taeyong’s crown chastely, winding his arms around Taeyong–and it should feel the same as it did whenever they used to hug goodbye, whenever Taeyong insisted it was for warmth’s sake during dark nights at the beach, whenever Doyoung did to thank Taeyong for paying for a meal–but it’s different some reason.

It’s somehow different now with Doyoung’s arms around him and Taeyong finds,

Taeyong finds that he likes this better.

**Author's Note:**

> [nervous laughter] find me in the [dumpster](https://twitter.com/jenhyungs)
> 
> sorry for inaccuracies/bad writing, i was so excited to write this i flew through it basically
> 
> thank you again for requesting [@dyestoday](https://twitter.com/dyestoday)!


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